


Warmth in the Blood

by Misaki_kaito



Series: Heat in the Veins [1]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Aphrodisiacs, Bloodplay, Frottage, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-28
Updated: 2017-06-28
Packaged: 2018-11-20 16:08:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11338818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Misaki_kaito/pseuds/Misaki_kaito
Summary: What's a little licking between friends?IE Higher Vampires are special in a way that Geralt thoroughly hates, then thoroughly appreciates.





	Warmth in the Blood

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry guys, will get back to work on TKMN soon, just had to get this out of my system. Thank you moodybidoof for your help in beta-ing this!

 

Geralt had cleaved Dettlaff in two, and though he had incapacitated him, Geralt knew Dettlaff wasn't dead. But there was little Geralt could do about that, so he went to Regis instead, hoping he would have an answer.

Geralt was aware that his throat had yet to stop bleeding from when Dettlaff had nearly torn it open, but he could only hope that Regis wouldn't be too bothered— after all, it's not like _he_ came out of that fight unbloodied.

Geralt quickly moved to where Regis lay, relieved to find him stirring as Geralt pushed the rocks off of him. He groaned as he got up, swaying slightly as Geralt lent him a hand, only to stiffen once he had gotten a good sniff.

“Geralt, you're bleeding too much, how...” Regis started to say before he saw the damage. Geralt used one of the padded lapels of his armor to try to staunch it the best he could— the Swallow potion was still in effect, but it only regenerated what Geralt had lost, not seal any wounds.

But they had bigger problems, as Geralt heard movement from where Dettlaff had lain. As they approached, they were treated to the grisly sight of Dettlaff's form trying to reattach its severed parts and regenerate.

Geralt went to draw his sword, but Regis stopped him.

“Leave him to me,” Regis said, “Begone.”

“I can't let—” Geralt protested, but Regis interrupted.

“I insist! He will go after you first, with as much blood as you've already spilled, in order to regenerate. I can't let that happen.”

“Point taken,” Geralt conceded— none of his wounds had closed yet, though the flow of blood had slowed. “But my blood is poison, he can't get anything from it.”

“Doesn't mean he won't try, now go!” Regis said before he stepped forward.

Geralt backed away, but refused to turn. He watched as Regis bit into Dettlaff's spine, eliciting shrieks and screams of pain, until at last, Dettlaff went silent and still.

Geralt grimaced as he watched; this was what his friend had been forced to, at Geralt's request.

He wished he'd never come to Toussaint.

When it was over— when Regis was slumped over Dettlaff's corpse, Geralt stepped forward, and helped his friend to his feet.

“I'm sorry, Regis,” Geralt said gruffly as he pulled him up, “But we need to go.” Regis breathed raggedly as Geralt supported him, and Geralt was abruptly aware of the blood still sluggishly flowing down his neck, and the fact that Regis was in some kind of shock.

But there was little Geralt could do about either, so Geralt dragged his friend away from the bloody battlefield.

Geralt managed to drag them both into a clearing nearby— hopefully far enough away from Dettlaff's corpse that Regis wouldn't be able to smell it. But Geralt couldn't carry them any further— for some reason, the wounds Dettlaff inflicted wouldn't close.

Geralt sat Regis down near a log before quickly building up a fire. By it's light, Geralt tried to examine his wounds, but could find nothing wrong with them except for the fact that they wouldn't clot.

Geralt felt the beginning of panic well up within him, when Regis spoke up.

“A Higher Vampire secretes venom from his claws and fangs that keeps wounds from closing, and keeps the blood flowing.” Geralt nearly jumped out of his skin at that, before turning to look at Regis, who was watching Geralt carefully. “It also acts as a mild sedative, one that you overcame quite easily, evidently.”

“So do I just wash it out?” Geralt asked, getting a water skin out.

“It's not that simple, unfortunately,” Regis said as he laughed shallowly. “And you won't like it.”

"Regis, just tell me," Geralt said as he started stripping off ruined armor and leathers. He heard Regis move, but he was wholly unprepared for the soft touch at the edge of the wound on his neck.

Geralt flinched away, and turned to see none other than Regis, who was very, very close all of a sudden.

"The venom is neutralized by the saliva of a Higher Vampire,"Regis said lowly, looking straight into Geralt's eyes.

Then Regis's words caught up to him, and Geralt was suddenly aware of the many throbbing gashes on his body.

"Regis, you can't mean—" Geralt began incredulously, but then staggered as a sudden wave of dizziness washed over him. Geralt cursed, and fumbled for a Swallow potion only to find it at his lips, courtesy of Regis, who was looking at him with concern.

"Geralt, your potions will only give you so much time," Regis said, not unkindly, as Geralt drank down the potion. Geralt wiped his mouth with a grimace, and nodded.

"The armor took the brunt of the damage, but he still got me good a couple of times," Geralt said, gesturing to his arms and legs, where the chain mail had split under the force of Dettlaff's claws.

Regis frowned.

“Well then, Geralt, you know what to do,” Regis said, before ordering, “Now strip.”

Geralt shivered, before complying. The blood loss must have caused it- it certainly wasn't getting any warmer as the night went on, so Geralt paid it no mind as he stripped down to his smalls. Regis had misted to the nearest stream while Geralt disrobed, and brought back a few wet cloths.

“Here, Geralt: you can wipe the worst of the blood off with these,” he said as he tossed a cloth at Geralt, who caught it nimbly. Geralt nodded, and dabbed most of the blood off of his skin. Finally, Geralt stopped, and sighed.

“It's not going to get much better, Regis. You may as well do what you need to.”

Regis watched Geralt solemnly, before gesturing at the fire. “It will take time fore the blood to slow,” he said as he motioned for Geralt to lean back against the log.

Geralt complied, and fixed his eyes to the stars above as Regis moved over the first of his wounds.

The first was a large gash on his outer thigh; more a scrape than anything else, but a scrape inflicted by a higher vampire's claws. “For what it's worth, Regis, at least my blood'll taste like shit,” Geralt huffed before a hot, wet tongue slid over the wound.

It stung like a bitch at first, and Geralt cursed as Regis licked again before the area went pleasantly warm, the pain disappearing entirely.

“The pain will pass, Geralt,” Regis said as he moved to the wound over his stomach.

“Sorry, Regis,” Geralt gritted out. Regis paused mid-lick, and sighed.

“It's certainly not pleasant, getting taunted with the taste of blood, and yours is far from unpleasant— but your life comes before my discomfort, Geralt.” Geralt swallowed thickly at Regis's words— and at the fact that the stinging sensation from where Regis had licked him was starting to feel good.

Geralt's body felt as if it was slowly burning up, starting from the wounds Regis had already tended to. He dug his fingers into the earth in an effort to suppress any reactions. It worked— until Regis accidentally brushed against one of his nipples.

Geralt gasped. He wasn't expecting the jolt of sensation that went straight to his cock, and he shuddered hard, and groaned, “Regis.”

He startled back from Geralt's shoulder, and immediately saw the problem.

Geralt gazed at Regis hazily, his pupils blown wide and dark. He whined sharply as Regis shifted, his skin exquisitely sensitive.

Regis cursed lowly.

“You fought off the sedative, but you're overly susceptible to the aphrodisiac. Of course you are,” Regis said, exasperated.

Geralt only squirmed as Regis moved over him, efficiently cleaning his other wounds of the venom. The problem lay in that he still had to clean them with his _tongue._

Geralt could only feel a faint embarrassment while the larger part of himself was very on board with Regis licking him all over.

Geralt watched as Regis drew back, and tilted his head to the side, further exposing the wound on his neck. Regis let out a sort of strangled noise from the back of his throat.

“You are never going to forgive me for this.” Geralt barely hear Regis mutter that, before Regis finally went for his throat. At the same time, Geralt felt Regis cradle his head in his hands, crowding Geralt against the log.

Suddely, there was an insistent pressure at Geralt's smalls, pressing deliberately at his cock; Geralt couldn't help but buck his hips with a low moan, chasing the friction and pleasure.

Then Regis ran his tongue up his throat, pushing it deeply into the wounds there, over and over- Geralt couldn't help but grind himself onto that pressure as sensation intensified, pleasure mixing with pain. Geralt whined high in the back of his throat and spasmed a little as he came, hard.

Geralt panted as he came down from that high, and twitched as Regis licked him again. A low heat started building again, but Geralt was _exhausted._

“Regis, Regis what—” Geralt tried to rally his senses, but failed miserably when Regis licked him once again, hitting him with another dose of aphrodisiac-laced saliva. 

Regis drew back, panting lightly. “I'm sorry, Geralt,” he said as he manhandled Geralt. “Here's to hoping you won't try to kill me for this.” Geralt's head lolled to the side as Regis laid him out, flat on his back.

There was a vial at his lips, but Geralt turned from it. Suddenly there were cool hands on either side of his face, and Geralt gasped in relief as cool lips covered his own.

A hand was at his throat, massaging gently as liquid was passed through the kiss. Geralt dimly recognized the taste if White Honey as he swallowed, before the kiss was broken.

A burning in his veins subsided, though the heat coiling in his abdomen intensified.

“The Swallow potion was not mixing well with the aphrodisiac,” Regis explained as he turned Geralt to face him, “Your wounds will heal well and quickly, and my saliva's effects will run its course within the hour.” 

Geralt blinked slowly, and pushed himself up.

“Alright,” Geralt said, moving away from Regis, though his body wanted to move closer. The wounds were scabbing quickly, and Geralt looked into the fire, and fell into a trance.

* * *

Regis sighed in relief as Geralt's heartbeat and breath evened out— at least _he_ could rest. 

Regis winced as he sat back on his heels, still hovering over Geralt's body. The smell of blood and arousal was still sharp in the air, and as he shifted, Regis's attention was abruptly brought back to the throbbing erection between his legs.

He cursed lowly as he moved carefully— this entire night was a cluster fuck. Dettlaff was dead, Geralt was injured, and he'd functionally exiled himself from his people.

This wasn't how he'd hoped this would turn out; he'd hoped to talk some sense into Dettlaff, perhaps persuade him to leave—but that was very much no longer an option. Regis sighed wearily, and misted back to the nearby stream. He kept an ear out in the direction of the camp as he washed the blood off—after the battle, Regis doubted that there was anything for miles that could harm or want to harm Geralt. Still, Regis did not dawdle, quickly and efficiently washing himself and his clothes of as much blood as he could.

The cold water doused what heat remained in his blood, though Regis knew he wouldn't soon forget the feel of Geralt's body beneath his, nor the taste of his blood, flush with arousal. It was an exquisite kind of torture, tending to wounds that he didn't inflict, inadvertently causing his friend discomfort and embarrassment.

This was not how he wanted to experience any kind of intimacy with Geralt. Not under these circumstances, not when Geralt couldn't even consent, when he'd nearly _died._ The wound on his throat was ghastly, and the fact that he'd gotten it on Regis's watch did not sit well with him. 

Regis huffed, dressed himself in the now damp clothes, and returned back to camp. The wet and the cold did not bother him much, but he laid the most sodden clothes near the fire, before tending to Geralt.

Now that the venom was neutralized, the wounds were quickly clotting and scabbing over, though they would undoubtedly leave scars. Regis winced as his gaze fell again on the wound on Geralt's throat, where Dettlaff had nearly torn it out. The wound had been deep, and Regis had to force a lot of saliva into the wound to take care of all of the lingering venom. Thankfully, it had also stopped bleeding; it slowly scabbed over even as he watched.

Geralt was still in trance, his gaze nearly vacant as he stared into the fire. Regis shook himself out of his thoughts, and moved to tend to his friend.

The wet cloth removed much of the bodily fluids still on his skin, and Regis treated Geralt as if he were any other patient; cleaning him quickly and efficiently, almost clinically, and then dressed him in a spare shirt and pair of trousers. His smalls went into the fire, and Regis took care of the mess there as well.

Regis sat back on his heels with a sigh when he finished, and settled down for the long wait until Geralt returned to consciousness. The wait was long, but the hours passed uneventfully and with little commotion.

Geralt roused as dawn broke, shifting as awareness returned. Regis watched as he got up slowly, almost carefully.

“Geralt?” Regis couldn't help but say his name, an unvoiced request for recognition. Geralt met his eyes across the dwindling fire, but quickly looked away. Regis squinted. That couldn't possibly be a _blush_ , could it?

“Regis,” Geralt rasped, still not meeting Regis's eyes. 

“Geralt,” Regis started to say, but was quickly interrupted.

“I'm sorry,” Geralt blurted out. Regis almost laughed. 

"Geralt, you have nothing to apologize for," Regis said, trying to be reassuring. Geralt only looked more mortified. Regis tried again, "There was no way to know that you would be that susceptible to a vampire's saliva, and I didn't even tell you about it."  
  
"So that's not a usual reaction?"Geralt asked.

Regis emphatically replied, "No, it's not— keep in mind, witchers generally are not privy to the experience of having a Higher Vampire inflict their venom and saliva. Though it would be good, I think, if Yennefer never heard the details of your knowledge, yes?”

Geralt looked at him, confused for a moment. “What does Yen have to do with any of this?”

Regis stared at Geralt. “You two _are_ together, are you not?”

Geralt grimaced. “Not anymore, Regis. Now, what brought Yen on?”

“I just—We just—” Regis sputtered.

Geralt sighed. “What I do and who I do or not do is no longer any business of Yennefer's. We lifted the spell, and though there wasn't any passion between us, we will always be close. Moving on,” Geralt hinted heavily as he sat properly on the log. There was still some redness on his cheeks, and he still couldn't quite meet Regis's eyes.

Regis was in shock. Geralt was sitting there, and telling him that the woman who'd held his heart for so long...no longer had it.

“Regis, you're one of my oldest regrets, and a dear friend. I'd thought you'd died at Vilgefortz's hands; I've lost you once already, and I'm not prepared to lose you again, not because of _this._ ” Geralt said as he gestured to his neck, and the rest of the scabbing wounds. 

“I—Geralt, there is little you could do that could cause me to turn from you,” Regis said, a little helplessly, “You are the one who leaves; you always are, but I do not begrudge you it. I treasure what time we do spend together.” He didn't want to scare Geralt off, but he also didn't want Geralt to think that any of this was his fault; it was just who Geralt was, and Regis couldn't help but love him for it.

It was simultaneously endearing and frustrating when Geralt shouldered the world's burdens as if they were his own, often feeling regret for events and actions that were beyond his control. “It was always a choice, Geralt. Dettlaff was my blood brother, but you—he made me choose, and I would have always chosen you.”

It was Geralt's turn to be shocked into silence; Regis was half afraid that he'd broken him, or just lost him for good. Geralt shuddered hard, and bowed his head over his hands.

“Geralt?” Regis got up slowly, and sat closer to Geralt, who was almost completely non-responsive. Regis slowly reached out to put a hand on his shoulder, but started badly as Geralt abruptly grasped that hand in a tight, almost desperate grip.

“I didn't know,” Geralt said quietly. 

Regis smiled sadly. “I did not want you to.” They stayed like that for a time, Geralt''s hand a warm reassurance on Regis's own.

The silence was broken as the sun continued to rise, birds singing as the dawn broke.

“Come home with me?” Geralt asked abruptly as they broke camp, “To Corvo Bianco?” Geralt watched him, almost pleadingly.

Regis smiled gently, “Of course, Geralt. It would be an honor.” But he couldn't help but think of how the news would spread, and the danger he was putting Geralt in. Despite his fears, however, the journey to Corvo Bianco was uneventful. And the grounds were nothing short of magnificent. The house itself would acquire some fixing up, but Regis could see that was already underway.

“It's beautiful, Geralt.”

Geralt smiled. “Yeah. Yeah, it is.”

He lead them inside, where they were greeted effusively by Barnabas-Basil, who updated Geralt on the goings-on of the estate.

“Oh, and Marlene has been settling in quite wonderfully; she's taken to the kitchen like a duck to water, and she's just marvelous at it.”

“That's good to hear,” Geralt said as he smiled, before directing Barnabas-Basil to send up some breakfast in an hour, before pulling Regis up towards the master bedroom. 

The room wasn't as bare as Regis expected, but he guessed that was Barnabas-Basil's influence more than anything.

“I should have some clean clothes that might fit you,” Geralt said as he took off his shirt, nodding towards the side dresser. Geralt grabbed a folded set that was already waiting, and moved to the wash basin to the side that was filled with fragrant, steaming water. He looked down at the water, before turning to Regis. “If you want, I could get a bath drawn for you?” He offered.

Regis shook his head as he stripped himself efficiently, “I'm alright Geralt; I'd taken advantage of the stream earlier, so I am clean. Where do I put these?” Regis motioned with a pile of clothes. Geralt nodded to the corner where his own shirt lay, and Regis tossed them there.

Geralt fixedly washed himself, intently focused on his task, trying his best to ignore Regis as he changed. His wounds had healed for the most part, though they were still tender in places.

By the time Geralt finished, Regis was sitting at Geralt's desk, eyeing the sheer amount of letters and paperwork sitting atop it.

Geralt rolled his eyes as Regis looked at him reprovingly. “I'll look at them later, Regis.”

“Geralt, I have no doubt that your steward takes care of the day to day business adequately, but there are—“ Regis stopped as Geralt literally climbed onto his lap, straddling him as he put his hands on Regis's shoulders. 

“I think there are more important things than the state of my paperwork that we have to discuss, don't you?” Geralt said lowly. Regis swallowed hard, and placed his hands gingerly on Geralt's hips. Geralt who still hadn't put a shirt on. 

He looked up to meet Geralt's gaze. “Do you want this, Geralt?” Regis asked, quietly but urgently. “Do you want what lies between us?”

Geralt tilted his head as he gazed down at Regis. “We've been friends a long time, but when I thought you'd died, it felt like a hole had opened in my heart, in my life. The spell messed with a lot, but despite it, I was always fond of you.” Geralt lowered his head until his lips just grazed Regis's. “Yes, I want this,” Geralt said softly, and kissed him.

Regis sighed into the kiss, bringing his hands up to cradle his face and pull Geralt closer. Geralt grunted as he basically sprawled onto Regis's lap, the chair groaning dangerously.

“Ahem.” Geralt jumped as Barnabas-Basil coughed politely at the door. It was (mercifully) mostly closed, but he was clearly visible nonetheless, carrying a rather large tray of food. “Shall I prepare another room for our guest, Master Geralt?” Geralt glanced from Regis to Barnabas-Basil. 

“That won't be necessary,” he said, finally, “He'll be staying with me.” Regis had a faint smile on his face as Barnabas-Basil nodded, and then set the tray down on the table closest to the door.

“Very well, I will let the staff know to expect two for lunch and dinner, then. If you'll excuse me, sir, Master Geralt,” Barnabas-Basil said as he made his escape, firmly closing the door behind him. 

Geralt exchanged a single glance with Regis before they both broke down laughing. “You brought that on yourself, Geralt,” Regis said as he grasped the desk, slightly breathless.

“His _face_ ,” Geralt could only say, and it took a few moments for the both of them to regain their composure. Geralt sat up from where he was sprawled out on top of Regis. “Come on, let's not let breakfast get too cold,” Geralt said as he slid off the chair, and brought the tray over to the desk, prompting Regis to hurriedly push the paperwork to the side in favor of the food. 

Marlene had outdone herself; breakfast was a grand spread of fried, sweet eggy bread, with sweet syrup and whipped cream, crispy sausages fried to perfection, bacon cured in a honey brine, and fresh fruit with clotted cream.

Neither of them spoke as they devoured the food, too busy wordlessly appreciating Marlene's cooking to pay much attention to anything else.

Once the last piece of bacon was gone, both of them sat back, Regis sipping at his tea.

“Well,” Regis said as he sighed in satisfaction, “My compliments to your cook, Geralt. Wherever did you find her?”

Geralt huffed. “Funny story, that,” Geralt said, “Remember how you said you needed spotted wight saliva for the Resonance decoction?” And so Geralt relayed the tale, making sure to leave out the boring bits.

“You could have killed her once you had gotten the saliva, you know,” Regis remarked neutrally.

Geralt raised an eyebrow. “When there was a way to cure her? You know me better than that, Regis.”

Regis chuckled, and poured himself more tea. “Yes, I do, Geralt. So I do.”

They sat then, in a companionable silence as Regis finished his tea. Geralt studied Regis's visage intently.

“Is there something on my face, Geralt?” Regis asked eventually. Geralt just got up out of his seat and rounded the table, his gait smooth and deliberate as Regis set aside the now empty cup. 

They met in the middle, pulling each other closer as the kiss deepened, though they were neither desperate nor hasty.

Geralt tasted sweet from the syrup, but also distinctly metallic, as his tongue slipped against Regis's fangs, heedless of the small nicks and cuts left from sharp teeth. Regis chased the taste, tilting his head and running his hands over Geralt's jaw and throat. Geralt whined sharply as he pulled away, panting heavily.

“Damn, that's potent,” Geralt gasped, his eyes fixated on Regis's mouth as he licked his lips slowly. Regis brought his hands up through Geralt's hair, raking his fingers lightly over his scalp. Geralt's eyes went half-mast with pleasure as he arched into the touch like a cat, shuddering hard as Regis scratched him lightly. “Not. Fair.” Geralt growled and retaliated by grinding his hips against Regis's. He reveled in the sound of Regis's breath quickening, and his instinctive thrusts upwards. 

“Bed,” Regis gasped, and walked them both towards it, almost bodily pushing Geralt onto the plush mattress. Geralt went gamely, though he pointedly shucked his pants. 

Regis stared hungrily at Geralt's naked form- until those pants got thrown at his face. Regis laughed as he tossed them aside, and misted out of his clothes, appearing atop Geralt.

Regis pinned Geralt's wrists with one hand over his head easily, not budging one bit as Geralt tested his strength. His other hand roamed teasingly over Geralt's torso, occasionally pinching a nipple or scratching lightly at his sides. Geralt groaned as Regis put his mouth to work, still pinning him to the bed, licking and sucking on exposed skin.

“Stop teasing,” Geralt gasped as Regis brushed his hand over Geralt's hip, completely avoiding Geralt's cock. 

“Patience, Geralt,” Regis said as he sat up, finally releasing Geralt. Geralt would have started exploring Regis in turn—had Regis not chosen that exact moment to grab his dick. Geralt moaned involuntarily at the sudden stimulation; the fact that he could barely move didn't curb his libido in the slightest. Casual displays of strength apparently _really_ got Geralt going. Regis had pinned him by straddling one of his thighs, evidence of his arousal hot against Geralt's skin. 

Geralt cursed up a storm as Regis took his sweet time with his dick, rubbing firmly under the head of it one minute, and lightly rolling his balls the next; Geralt writhed as much as he could, but Regis merely hummed and pressed him down more firmly.

Then he started  _moving_ . 

Geralt's hands touched any part of Regis he could reach, and he pulled himself up to catch Regis in a kiss, just as he moved to lay atop Geralt; Regis brought both of their cocks together in a tight grip, and it was everything Geralt wanted as he thrust eagerly.

Regis responded in kind, at the end of his own will as he kissed Geralt breathless, muffling their moans as Geralt came hard, Regis following soon after.

Geralt gazed dazedly at the ceiling of his room, basking in the afterglow. Regis shifted over, but paused as Geralt's stomach rumbled loudly.

“Come, Geralt,” Regis said, laughing slightly as he swung off the bed towards the basin. He soaked a washcloth in the water and tossed it at Geralt, before using another on himself. “Let's hope we didn't miss lunch.”

“Does that mean you'll stay?” Geralt asked as he wiped the evidence of their activities from his body. Regis paused, and Geralt turned to see him looking at Geralt fondly. 

“For as long as you'll have me, Geralt. For as long as you'll have me.”

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and/or kudos are greatly appreciated!


End file.
